


Flotsam & Jetsam

by errantangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Slice of Life, Univeristy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/errantangel/pseuds/errantangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1985. Castiel Novak is a junior at University of Notre Dame. Set on a structured path to the finer points of academia his life is spectacularly derailed by one hooligan. Dean Winchester. </p><p>Three years ago General Motors Institute stopped subsidizing tuition and Dean dropped off  the path to engineering. Now working two jobs and moving his little brother into college his life is in turmoil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flotsam & Jetsam

      It’s summer break 1985. Cas is working the matinee shift at the cinema when they first meet. Well, technically he’s on break. The first thing he notices when he steps out the back for some fresh air is the old black Chevy. Cas isn’t good with cars but he guesses the thing must be at least twenty years old because it has vintage aesthetics… and it’s, well, dangerous looking. The second thing he notices is the terrible cursing coming from around the corner. His curiosity is piqued, after all it’s a sunny afternoon and nobody wants to be stuck inside a theater with weather this nice, maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s the fact that a car he doesn’t recognize is parked in the area designated as ‘employee parking’ and Cas is just a stickler for rules. But it’s probably because he’s starving for something _different_ from his mundane life. And whoever’s saying, “I’ll fuck up all you sons o’ bitches” is promising just that. Cas rounds the dumpster that’s usually full of popcorn bags, coke cans, and cigarette cartons. A few stubs litter the pavement around it; nearly fossilized they’ve been there so long. A furious green glare belongs to the voice and Cas is fairly certain the face they’re part of is handsome but it’s difficult to tell with the fantastic shiner blooming over his left eye and the split lip and the blood from a cut near one of his eyebrows. “Slashed my damn tires,” the voice complains as though it’s the most natural remark to make when slumped against the back alley of a cinema bleeding in half a dozen places. Cas doesn’t know what to say. How do you reply to something like that? He needs to be back on shift in ten minutes. The green eyes have closed in weary defeat; Cas chews his lip indecisively. Steeling himself against the potential consequences of associating with what his parents would certainly deem ‘riffraff’, he reaches out and prods the boy’s shoulder. The green eyes slit back open.“What the hell’re you starin’ at? You gonna say somethin’?”  

“Are you okay?” He works up his courage and offers the delinquent a hand.  

“Do I look okay?” Calloused fingers seize his own. It takes a surprising amount of effort to haul the young man back to his feet. Cas’ concern must be evident because he’s reassured with, “No, really. I’ll be good. Just...” A bloody-knuckled hand gestures glumly to the Chevy. For a moment Cas doesn’t say anything. What’s going through his head is inappropriate and along the lines of ‘judging by your appearance you definitely did something to deserve it’.  

“Come on, you can’t walk around looking like that.” He tugs the hooligan towards the back entrance. “At least let me get you some ice.” But the man seems reluctant to leave his car. “It’s not going anywhere.”

“No, but if those punks show back up there’s no telling what I’ll come back to.”

“If ‘those punks’ show back up, I doubt you’ll be coming back under your own power.” Cas ushers him inside before he can put up further protest.

****

“Name’s Dean,” the man says, dabbing at his eyebrow with some paper towel.

“Cas.” He sticks out his hand again. Dean makes a face but shakes it.

“That short for somethin’?”

“No.” He’ll be damned if he’ll tell anyone his full name. No one calls him by it anyway.

“Whatever.” Dean grunts as his study of his split lip proves more painful than he’s anticipated. “Take you up on that ice any time now.” He rubs his temples but grins crookedly.

“Right, let me just run to concessions real quick.”

“No rush, s’not like I’m bleedin’.” Cas hears himself chuckle, half relieved he hasn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life. He tries to still his mind as he steals a towel from the cupboard and holds a hand under the ice machine. What is he doing? His shift is back on, if he gets caught... he finds he doesn’t care. It doesn’t bother him as much as it should. Instead a thrill of adrenaline is running through him. He feels like he’s aiding in a crime. And he’s okay with it. Bundling up the towel he turns, trying to get out of the stand before anyone notices he isn’t doing his job.

“Hey, Cas! Get your ass down to theater two, we’re opening Back to the Future in five.” Damn.

“Be right there!” he calls over his shoulder as he hurries back to the bathroom. Dean is sitting on the sink. “I have to go.” He presses the towel into Dean’s hands. The young man catches his elbow before he can leave.

“Hey. Thanks.”

“Yeah, anytime.” What is he promising? Good lord, he’s hoping there will be a next time. Hefting the ice-pack up to his eye, Dean asks,

“Is there a phone I could use by any chance?”

“There’s a pay phone by the box office, really I have to go now.”

“You got any change?” The killer smile he employs is only slightly marred by the fresh blood oozing from his lip. Cas gives an irritated sigh.

“Do I look that easy?”

“C’mon, I was kiddin’ ya. Go do whatever it is needs doin’.” When Cas looks back over his shoulder on his way to theatre two, Dean flashes him a thumbs up and goes back to rifling through his pockets, pulling out random bits of change with a satisfied ‘ah hah!’. The theatre employee feels slightly uncomfortable with the looks his piece of adventure is drawing from customers but he takes tickets and hands back stubs as cheerfully as he can manage.

****

Fumbling with his quarters, Dean hopes his brother is home because he doesn’t have enough change to make another call and Zack’s less than delicate treatment in the alley is starting to catch up to him. He blows out a sigh as the line picks up.

“Heya, Sammy.”

“Dean?” Oh. Not Sam.

“Oh, sorry, Jess. Is Sam around?” He can hear his brother in the background, Jessica answering a question.

“Yeah, hold on.” Dean toys with the payphone cord, propping himself up against the wall.

“What’s up?” Sam sounds somewhat distracted and Dean wonders what he’s interrupted.

“My Baby ain’t doin’ so hot, can you come pick me up?” Years of experience must have tipped Sam off because he asks,

“Are _you_ okay?” Dean rolls his eyes.

“I’m awesome. Can you come or not?--I’m at the cinema.” This time it’s Jess in the background asking after him and he feels slightly embarrassed.

“Dean,” there’s a note of impatience in Sam’s voice, “this really isn’t a good time.”

“Tell me about it. I gotta be at work in two hours.”

“Ugh, fine. I’ll see you in a bit. Don’t do anything stupid.” _Too late,_ Dean thinks as the line clicks off. He hangs up and drags himself outside before he can draw any more undue attention to that Cas kid who’s helped him. He braces himself for the lecture his little brother is certain to have prepared. He should have known--he _had_ known--that getting it on with Laura was a bad idea. Then again, Laura had conveniently forgotten to mention that she and Zack were back together.

****

Sam is rehearsing his morals speech when he pulls into the plaza. Beside him Jess worries quietly. This isn’t the first time--far from it-- that she’s been witness to one of his brother’s shenanigans and the majority of them involve Dean returning home nursing painful injuries or at least a bruised ego and Sam left to pick up the pieces. There isn’t a crowd so it’s easy to spot his brother trying to lean casually against one of the movie advertisements along the wall. He doesn’t bother to park. Instead he pulls up along the curb and jumps out of the cab, engine still running. “What happened this time?” His speech is delayed a little when he sees the state of his brother’s face. “Dude, you’re gonna scare the shit out of Gabe’s customers.” Unamused, Dean waves off Sam’s steadying hands.

“Just take me home so I can clean up.”

“I’m dropping Jess off first.” He pulls the front seat forward and gestures for Dean to climb in. The motion is terse. Now is not a good time to be dealing with his brother’s shit. Well, there never is a _good_ time for it but the summer before college is particularly inconvenient. Especially when your girlfriend has just told you she’s decided to take Butler’s acceptance. Dean must sense the tension because he says,

“I interrupted something, didn’t I?”

“You think?” Dean can’t quite see his brother’s expression in the rearview mirror but he can imagine from his tone the spectacular bitchface he’s making.

“Are you okay, Dean?” Jess breaks the silence, twisting around in her seat to give him a sympathetic wince. “You look terrible.”

“I’m just peachy, thanks for askin’.” Sam continues to give his brother the cold shoulder.

“What’s wrong with the Impala?” She jumps back in before either of the boys can make the tension worse. Dean groans at the reminder of his Baby’s condition.

“Sons o’ bitches slashed her tires.” He sounds more like he’s mourning the death of a loved one than the temporary hitch in transportation.

“Well they obviously knew that just knocking some sense into you wouldn’t be enough,” Sam mutters bitterly.

“Sam!” It’s an exasperated reprimand and Dean can’t hide his smirk. If Jess is pitying him the chances that his brother will be easy are that much higher.

“What, Jess? You want me to _encourage_ \--”

“Hey! Woah, woah, slow down there, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam!”

“Okay, _Sam_ , you leave the lady outta this.” Sam mumbles an apology to Jess.  

They ride on in not-so-companionable silence until they reach Jess’s house, both boys offering anxious goodbyes. She waves at them through the screen door as Sam pulls out of the drive. Dean closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the seat, hoping his brother will choose to pursue his lecture later rather than sooner. The towel full of ice that Cas gave him is sopping wet now and not much help in fending off the swelling around his eye. He must have dozed off on the way home because the next thing he knows Sam is calling his name rather irritably. “You don’t have a concussion, do you?”

“No, I don’t have a concussion. But I’m pretty sure even my earlobes are bruised.” He gingerly clambers out of the back seat only to be seized by a solicitous hand while Sam studies his eyes. “I told you I don’t have a concussion.”

“Yeah, well it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve lied.”

“I’m _fine_. My biggest problem right now is whether or not Gabe’s gonna let me work like this. That and getting back without my Baby.” He groans again upon remembering the Impala still sitting forlornly behind the cinema. Sam rolls his eyes.

“Just tell him you can’t come in.” Dean shakes his head and regrets the action.

“I can’t. New tires are gonna be a bitch to pay for.”

“Well you wouldn’t _need_ new tires if you’d just keep it in your pants!” He flings his keys on the counter and looks back over his shoulder to make sure his brother is following. “Still, you really shouldn’t go to work like that.” Dean shrugs stiffly out of his jacket.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m gonna shower first.” Sam strangles a noise of exasperation. “Gabe ain’t got no problem sackin’ me if I don’t show.”

“Gabriel doesn’t keep you around for your work ethic, he keeps you around ‘cause he likes checking out your ass. Which, as far as I can tell, is still intact.”

****

The hot water stings the cuts and scrapes and he dabs gently at them with a washcloth as the rest of the water cascades over his shoulders and begins to relieve some of the tension. He soaps up his hair and tries not to grimace as it filters into the cut above his brow. Sam made sure he was properly sanitized before he even set foot in the shower and he really doesn’t feel like abusing the cuts any more than necessary. After a few more minutes of standing under the shower head he decides perhaps his brother is right. He’s toweling off and still trying to reach a decision when Sam knocks on the door. “What,” he calls making sure the irritation is clear in his tone. His brother’s hovering is beginning to grate on his nerves.

“I called Gabe, says he doesn’t want your ugly mug in there tonight.”

“Dammit, Sam. I’ll make my own damn choices.”

“You’re staying in.”

“Yeah,” Dean concedes.

****

“Okay, spill it. What’s eatin’ ya?” Sam has been restless, changing channels on the television, opening a pop and leaving it in the other room, getting up to close curtains. Dean has ice back on his eye but he can still see the dark expression clouding his brother’s features.

“Jess is going to Butler.” The sentence is punctuated as Sam flops defeatedly onto the couch beside him.

“Butler? Aw c’mon, that ain’t so bad.”

“It wouldn’t be, but she was going to go to IU with me. I mean, what if she meets someone else?”

“C’mon, Jess wouldn’t do that to you. You’ve been together how long now? Three years?”

“Three and a half last week.”

“See that’s my point exactly. If she were gonna leave ya, she’d a done it when you were going through that awkward Jefferson Starship phase.”

“You said you’d never bring that up again!” Dean smirks, inadvertently reopening his lip. A throw pillow is tossed lightly at him.

“Hey! Not cool, _injured_.”

“We’re never talking about the Starships again. _Ever_.”

“Take it easy, kiddo, I’m just joshin’ ya.”

****

Cas watches as his station wagon's reflection flash through the front display window. From behind the counter a silhouette waves at him. Gabe never works the counter. “You’re actually working,” he says as he enters the nearly empty shop. A lone, grungy teenager is browsing the well stocked XXX section that he probably isn’t legally allowed to rent but that Gabriel will encourage anyway.

“Cassie! What’s my favorite newphew up to tonight?” A suggestive eyebrow raise follows the question expectantly. Cas studies the ceiling for a long moment before answering.

“It’s Sunday, Gabe,” he explains. The shop owner’s face falls. “I just wanted to know if you were coming to dinner. But I guess if your guy’s not here then you’ve got a pretty good excuse to skip.”

“And leave you to the sharks? What do you take me for?”

“A charlatan,” Cas deadpans.

“I always knew you loved me.” Gabriel calls to the boy still perusing the shelves and recommends a sketchily titled film. “I’ll be fashionably late, but I’ll be there,” he tells Cas.

“Good. I don’t even want to think about the last time Balthazar skipped. Mom pitched a fit. And he’s not even from her side.” Cas makes a face that’s obvious he’s contemplating how Balthazar would be different if he came from his mother’s side of the family. Apparently it’s not a good change on the man.

“Is he going to be there? I thought the reason he didn’t show last week was because Gracie threatened to castrate him if he kept making lewd comments about you.” Cas rolls his eyes. That isn’t far from the truth, unfortunately.

“Look, if I stick around much longer I’ll be late too.”

“Sure, kid. See you there.” Cas waves lazily in response and heads back to his car.

The road home is surprisingly empty and he finds his thoughts drawn back to the young man he helped out behind the theatre. More specifically to _Dean’s_ refreshing cheekiness. Some part of him wishes he had enough spine to emulate that impudence--but he likes his spine just fine where it is. Dinner tonight will certainly test his nerves; if Balthazar shows up he’s certain to hear about his uncle’s behavior for the rest of the evening.

To say that Grace Novak is a severe woman would be putting it lightly. She has enough bitter fortitude to fend off Balthazar’s offers to ‘remove the stick from her arse’ and send the man scuttling off her doorstep in record time. Sometimes Cas wonders what she was like at his age; whether or not she ever loosened up or went wild. His mother might be deemed a  cow by his cousins but Cas has to hand it to her, he does eat a homecooked meal with most if not all of his family every week--with the exception of his father--which is more than most people can say. He toes his shoes off  in the foyer and calls a greeting to the rest of the house.

A platter of appetizers sits cooling on the counter, Cas snatches one and pops it in his mouth before his mother can see. The covert operation is foiled when the food proves rather hot. His mother’s eyes bore into him as he coughs and splutters and tries not to look guilty. “Hey,” he says hoarsely, “I’m home.” Grace shakes her head, hands him a pile of plates with silverware and kisses his forehead.

“Good, go set the table.” Cas obliges her, moving into the dining room with his balancing act. This is such a common occurrence, now more habit than anything, that he immediately notices the lack of a plate which foretells Balthazar’s absence. If his mother just assumes Balthazar won’t show or if she has taken preventative measures he can’t tell, but he’s almost certain it’s the latter.

****

“...which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord, amen. In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit.” Somewhere between ‘bounty’ and ‘amen’ the front door opened and Gabriel now stands leaning casually against the door jamb. It should be considered quite an accomplishment that Grace does not allow herself to be interrupted, but this pattern continues every Sunday like clockwork and she remains unfazed. Cas even knows which words it will come between and how long it takes Gabriel to get from the front door to the dining room so that he’s always in the doorway by ‘Holy Spirit’. As is customary, Gabriel waits until all heads rise (probably making sure everyone noticed his entrance) before crossing the threshold. He spreads his arms theatrically.

“Grace!”

“Gabriel.” It’s obvious that Cas learned to deadpan from his mother. She is unparalleled in the art of deadpanning. And Cas is her protégé. They’ve been pacing themselves over the course of pre-dinner formalities and can deadpan for the remainder of the evening if necessary. Grace does not return Gabriel’s offer of embrace and instead stares him into submission. Gabriel catches Cas’ eye and winks as he serves himself. Anna, Rachel, Hester, Sam, and Inias greet their uncle in low tones that are barely audible over the clink of silverware. Cas himself attempts a subtle smile. Gabriel makes up for the lacklustre reception by boisterously asking after Inias’ new girl. This draws the girls’ stares. They didn’t know. Just as well Gabriel tells them though, if his nephew kept quiet about it any longer the revelation might have incurred Grace’s wrath.

Despite Gabriel’s chronically late arrivals which seemed to imply that he did not enjoy eating dinner with his relatives, once he’s there it’s almost impossible to get him to leave. Hester, Rachel, Sam and Inias have already headed home and Cas finds himself sitting between two empty chairs as Gabriel helps himself to another helping of Grace’s Old Family Recipe Strawberry Shortcake. Anna politely remains at the table exchanging pleasantries with her uncle--even Anna’s profound admiration for her mother doesn’t dampen her affection for Gabriel. The man’s laugh is infectious and Cas finds his face has started to ache from grinning.

It’s getting dark by the time the table is cleared and the dishes are washed and put away. Gabriel lingers with the last of a cup of coffee as Grace straightens the already tidy living room, Cas and Anna lounging on the sofa. They’re poking fun at Gabriel’s chosen mode of transportation--a regular topic for ridicule. Grace only ever frowns her disapproval when Anna brings up the fact that he isn’t wearing bright enough colors to warn drivers. He considers bringing up the fact that he wouldn’t be so far out of town this late if he didn’t eat with them on Sundays, but thinks better of it.

He takes his leave before Grace can think to berate him for taking chances.

As he’s biking out of the neighborhood Gabriel thinks back to Sam’s phone call. Though he’d never admit it outright he worried about Dean in a paternalistic way that is unfamiliar. Dean isn’t a child, and most of Gabriel’s paternalistic feelings arise when small children are put under his charge but nevertheless the feeling is similar. Tomorrow is Monday and work will be slow, he decides it will be a good chance to find out what happened.

 

It’s just past seven before Dean realises he didn’t set his alarm. Jolting out of bed and into a fresh set of clothes, he calls down the hall,

“I’m taking your truck!” Because Sam can budge his lazy ass somewhat later and call in a ride from Jess. Every bruise that was somewhat mildly calling for attention last night has now taken up a not-so-dull ache.

“Mhmf,” Sam groans from under the covers as Dean rushes past his room. It’s not entirely clear whether this is permission or protest.

“Call Jess.”

“Good morning to you too.” He’s out the door and clambering into the pickup, catching sight of his face in the rearview mirror and grimacing.

****

Dean shows up a couple minutes late but Gabriel doesn’t call him out on it, he’d seen Dean get out of Sam’s truck. And Dean never leaves Baby at home. His thoughts that something big has occurred are confirmed when the bell above the door jingles and Dean’s head pokes through.

“Jesus H Christ, kid,” Gabriel remarks with only half-feigned horror.

“Shut up, Gabe. I have a beautiful face.”

“Had.” Dean rolls his eyes and pins his nametag to his shirt before ducking behind a shelf to start inventory. A few moments later the bell on the door chimes again. “Goddamnit we’re not even open yet,” he complains.

“Hey Gabe, I promised Anna I’d return this but--” Dean straightens from behind the shelf and turns to see the early intruder. “You!”

“You,” Dean counters.

“Cassie!” Gabriel waltzes in from the back. He glances from Cas to Dean and back again. “You two know each other?”

“Not really--”

“ _You_ two know each other?” Dean mimic’s Gabriel’s look from Cas and back to his manager.

“He’s my uncle.”

“Oh.”

“Would one of you mind explaining?” Gabriel checks the sign on the shop to make sure it says ‘closed’.  Dean takes the tape that Cas is still holding and turns on the computer behind the counter.

“He parked in employee parking.”

“I didn’t 'park' there. My tires were slashed!”

“You parked there first,” Cas insists. Dean pretends to click loudly on the computer a few more times and then returns the tape to its shelf. Gabriel tries to cut the tension,

“What are you doing out so early anyway?”

“We’re out of coffee.”

“I’m surprised Grace let you drive.”

“I don’t remember getting here.”

“You, gofer,” Gabriel jabs a finger at Dean, “coffee run.”

“I’m not a gofer.”

“You are today.” Dean sighs and starts out the door. “Wait, it’s on me, kid.” Gabriel hands him a bill. Dean grins. “Just coffee. I expect change.”

“Aw, c’mon. I didn’t get breakfast.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Me neither,” Cas settles the argument. Dean flashes him a conspiratorial grin.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Tallest they’ve got, two sugars.” Dean makes a face as if to convey his discrepancy with this desecration of sacred beverage. On his way out he sizes up Cas’ station wagon and makes a face through the window.

“He didn’t ask what I wanted for breakfast.” Gabriel guffaws and perches on the counter.

“You the reason he didn’t show up yesterday?”

“Only half.”

“You wanna elaborate?”

“Look, I just found him behind the cinema, I was gonna give him hell for using employee parking but then he, well...his face. So I gave the guy some ice. End of story.” He turns his eyes to the new releases section. “What do you think happened? Does he get into trouble like this often?” Gabriel hums thoughtfully.

“It wouldn’t be uncommon. But he’s a good kid, don’t let his trouble making fool you.”

“Isn’t that contradictory?”

“I mean his heart’s in the right place. Dean’s got a knack for getting himself into situations but when it comes down to it he doesn’t mean anyone harm--provided you don’t mess with his baby brother.”

“Judging by his bruises I don’t think he was doing much harm.” Cas agrees. “But he obviously did something to deserve it.”

“He’s kind of a ladykiller.”

“With _that_ face?”

“It’s the freckles. Get’s ‘em every time.”

 

In line at Dunkin’ Donuts, Dean sneezes.

****

Gabriel clears off a table that was displaying a selection of candies. Cas rolls out the chair from behind the front desk and claims it. Gabriel makes do with a stepladder and looks around for something else to complete their makeshift breakfast table. There’s not much space in the shop so furniture is kept to a minimum. Gabriel disappears into the back and returns with two stackable crates held aloft in triumph.

“So who is he?”

“Dean?” Cas rolls his eyes,

“Yes, _Dean_.” Gabriel considers the question.

“Look, I’m not gonna write you a biography on the kid. You should find out for yourself. It’d be good for you. And him. You both seem a little lacking in friends.” Cas looks like he’s about to comment on being friends with someone so uncouth but the cheery jingle of the door interrupts him. And Cas isn’t sure he can avoid being friends with someone bearing coffee. Dean also has a box of half a dozen raspberry bismarcks. Cas inspects them through coffee-fogged glasses.

“I prefer lemon,” he announces but takes one anyway, “for future reference.” Gabriel claims two on a napkin and pops the lid off his coffee to let it cool.

“I remember one time when you were four, your momma was makin’ lemonade. And you got your hands on a slice and shoved it in your mouth; face hasn’t change a bit since.” Dean smirks over the top of his cup.

“The face _you_ made when Kali came in while you were giving that delinquent--”

“Pot calling the kettle!”

“porn recommendations.” Cas smiles around a bite of the doughnut and thinks perhaps raspberry isn’t so bad. It might even be preferable.

“Well good luck attracting any customers today.”

“Hey do you know how many chicks leave here with movies just so they can have me check them out?” He jabs a finger at the computer, “Not to mention all the phone records. They see it like giving me their number--”

“Who, Rocky Raccoon?”

“These are battle scars,” he adds defensively. Gabe is barely containing his laughter if only to keep from spilling his coffee and Dean’s grinning which only makes his ‘battle scars’ ache that much more. But he’s starting to think that maybe he should skip breakfast more often.

 


End file.
